In the kitchen I knelt in front of Radar and stroked the sides of her face. She looked at me attentively, ears pricked. “I can’t stay, but I’m going to leave a light on and I’ll come back tomorrow morning and feed you. Okay?”
She whined, licked my hand, and then went to her dish. It was empty, but she gave it a few licks and then looked at me. The message was pretty clear. “No more until morning,” I said.
She laid down and put her muzzle on her paw, never taking her eyes off me.
“Well…”
I went to the cannister marked COOKIES. Mr. Bowditch had said no meat and no snacks, and I decided he could have meant no meat snacks. Semantics are wonderful, aren’t they? I vaguely remembered hearing or reading somewhere that dogs are allergic to chocolate, so I took one of the pecan sandies and broke off a piece. I offered it. She sniffed, then took it delicately from my fingers.
I sat down at the table where I’d done my studying, thinking I should just go. She was a dog, for Christ’s sake, not a child. She might not like being alone, but it wasn’t like she was going to get into the cabinet under the sink and drink bleach.
My phone buzzed. It was Dad. “Everything okay there?”
“Fine, but it’s good I came. I left the dog door open. She came out when she heard me.” No need to tell him that when I saw that moving shadow I’d had a single flash of Janet Leigh in the shower, screaming and trying to avoid the knife.
“Not your fault. You can’t think of everything. Coming back?”
“Pretty soon.” I looked at Radar looking at me. “Dad, maybe I should—”
“Bad idea, Charlie. You’ve got school tomorrow. She’s a grownup dog. She’ll be fine overnight.”
“Sure, I know.”
Radar got up, a process that was a little painful to watch. When she got her hindquarters under her, she walked off into the dark of what was probably the living room.
“I’ll just stay a few minutes. She’s a nice dog.”
“Okay.”
I ended the call and heard a low squeaking sound. Radar came back with a toy in her mouth. I thought maybe it was a monkey, but it was so chewed it was hard to tell. I still had my phone in my hand, so I took a picture. She brought me the toy and dropped it by my chair. Her eyes told me what I was supposed to do.
I gave it a soft lob across the room. Radar limped after it, picked it up, made it squeak a few times to show it who was boss, and brought it back. She plunked it down beside my chair. I could imagine her as a young dog, heavier and much more agile, going after that poor old monkey （or its predecessor） at a full-tilt run. The way Andy said she’d run at him that day. Now her running days were over, but she was giving it her best shot. I could imagine her thinking, see how good I am at this? Stick around, I can do it all night!
Only she couldn’t, and I couldn’t stay. Dad wanted me home, and I doubted if I’d sleep much anyway if I stayed here. Too many mysterious creaks and groans, too many rooms where anything might be lurking… and creeping toward me once the lights were out.
Radar brought the squeaky monkey back. “No more,” I said. “Rest up, girl.”
I started for the back hall, then had an idea. I went to the darkened room where Radar had found her toy and groped around for a switch, hoping nothing （Norman Bates’s wrinkled mummy of a mother, for instance） would grab my hand. The switch made a clacking sound when I found it and flipped it.
Like the kitchen, Mr. Bowditch’s living room was old-timey but neat. There was a couch upholstered in dark brown fabric. It looked to me as if it hadn’t had much use. Most of the sitting appeared to have been done in an easy chair plonked down in the middle of an old-fashioned rag rug. I could see the divot made by Mr. Bowditch’s skinny shanks. A blue chambray shirt was tossed over the back. The chair faced a TV that looked prehistoric. There was an antenna thing on top of it. I took a picture of it with my phone. I didn’t know if a TV that ancient could possibly work, but judging by the books stacked on either side of it, many marked with Post-it notes, it probably didn’t get much use even if it did work. In the far corner of the room was a wicker basket piled high with dog toys, and that said all anyone would need to know about how much Mr. Bowditch loved his dog. Radar padded across the room and grabbed a stuffed rabbit. She brought it to me, looking hopeful.
“Can’t,” I said. “But you can have this. It probably smells like your guy.”
I grabbed the shirt off the back of the chair and spread it on the kitchen floor beside her dish. She smelled it, then lay down on it. “Atta girl,” I said. “See you in the morning.”